


hit the ground running

by storytellingape



Series: plate tectonics [1]
Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Kitchen (2019)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Big Gay Mobsters, Detectives, Kylux Adjacent Ship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18459119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/pseuds/storytellingape
Summary: Gabriel O'Malley has ties to the mob running the seedy underbelly of Hell's Kitchen, New York. From time to time he comes to detective Flip Zimmerman for help, even if the good detective has tried to arrest him more than once.





	hit the ground running

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeusus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeusus/gifts).



> We haven't even seen [The Kitchen](https://www.dailymail.co.uk/video/tvshowbiz/video-1703884/Video-Lights-camera-action-Elisabeth-Moss-films-Kitchen.html) yet but we all know which Adam to ship this Donut with!
> 
> Part 1 of an entire series I plan to write involving Flip and Gabriel starting a family.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gabriel comes for him, because of course he does, a year later when Flip has almost put all thought of him to rest. The wind is ashy snow and there’s a hole cut through the window screen when Flip comes home to his apartment. Gabriel has his feet up on the coffee table with the light of the television screen bathing him in glossy flashes. His shirt is open in the middle and even with the shitty lighting Flip can tell the difference between shadow and bruise. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Flip says, lowering his gun.

Gabriel’s chin is tilted down, his gaze focused on the apple he’s peeling in his lap. He’s using a knife Flip has never seen before but that’s probably the least of Flip’s problems right now. 

“Ran into a bit of trouble,” Gabriel says, setting the knife down. The skin around his eyes is rubbed a tired pink, his chin worryingly angular. He looks like he’s lost some weight.

“Doing what? Counting cards?”

“That’s not all I do,” Gabriel tells him, a smirk warping his expression when he slants a look in Flip’s direction. 

Flip eyes him warily. 

“Don’t worry, Zimmerman,” Gabriel huffs, rolling his eyes. He picks a wedge of apple between two fingers and chews with his mouth half-open. “I won’t be here very long. I’ll be out tomorrow, I promise.”

Flip doesn’t budge from the door. “This isn’t a motel, you know. You can’t just break into my apartment every time you need a place to stay because you pissed someone off and have a bounty on your head.”

“You’re right,” Gabriel agrees breezily. “I should probably call beforehand. That way we could plan a whole fucking sleepover.”

Flip looks at him but stays silent. Egging Gabriel on will get him nowhere so he simply shuts the front door behind him and locks it, even though, what’s the point, really, the kind of person he’s trying to keep out is sitting in his living room eating his food. 

He hangs up his coat behind the door, dropping his keys into a bowl in the foyer where it makes an ugly noise like jangling coins. It’s a really small apartment as the government pays _peanuts,_ with an open kitchen in full view of the den which means Gabriel can see him whichever direction he moves. Flip grabs a beer from the fridge and then hunkers down in the living room in front of the TV because he’s not going to let Gabriel come between him and his nighttime routine; he’s not going to let him under his skin, period, because he isn’t worth the trouble. Flip isn’t a rookie anymore, easily swayed by a few soft words and a smirking mouth, weak for a pretty set of legs. He’s learned his lesson after Gabriel blew his cover and ratted him out to Joel Clemens who’d been running one of the biggest underground gambling dens in all of New York. That had almost gotten him killed but Flip should have known never to trust a rat. Most informants are only loyal to a fault, breaking information whenever it serves their interests. Gabriel had hightailed it out of the city since and seeing him after so long is working Flip into a restless anxiety though he tries to tamp down the urge to act on it.

Gabriel hands him the remote, temporarily breaking the tension. 

“Thanks,” Flip says with only faint sarcasm. He settles for an evening soap opera, not absorbing anything as he’s too hyperaware of his unwarranted visitor. Gabriel won’t actually kill him; he’d told Flip once, drunkenly at that, that he hated wasting bullets. He only shot people he was contracted to kill: politicians, crooks, the errant mistresses of powerful men. It was the one thing he was good at, that could be proud of, how he could do a job quickly and cleanly without putting up a fuss. He was Hell’s Kitchen’s golden boy once, wearing deep grooves on the ground he walked on. Gabriel used to be fifth on the city’s most wanted list until he cut a deal with the NYPD to save his ass from prison. And what a pretty ass it was; Flip ought to know because he’s fucked it, more than once, when he was three sheets to the wind and young enough to allow himself to be seduced.

“Are you just gonna sit there all night and pretend like I’m not here?” 

“Works for me,” Flip shrugs, chugging on his beer, getting comfortable in the sofa. He worked a long day, poring over folders of research for his next case. This is the first time he’s been home before midnight after spending weeks sleeping at the precinct and foregoing all sorts of hygiene. When he’s in the middle of a case, he’s the guy sitting in three-day stakeouts, barely eating and sleeping. The downside to this is after every post-case lull he gets bored, very bored. But he isn’t bored now, with Gabriel sitting not three feet away from him with posture that’s languid like honey. His legs are spread at an inviting angle. He probably thinks Flip is an idiot, or still twenty-five.

“You’re more handsome than I remember,” Gabriel says, apropos of nothing.

Flip’s grip tightens around the neck of his beer till his fingers are tipped white but instead of rising to the bait he lets it go. “What do you want, O’Malley?”

“Just shelter for the night, a place to rest my head.” Now it’s Gabriel’s turn to shrug. From the corner of Flip’s eye, he sees Gabriel put the knife down and rise from his seat. He has the fastest hands Flip has ever seen; they met at a high stakes blackjack table where Gabriel had been dealing cards. 

“I missed you, Zimmerman,” Gabriel says, sounding like he means it, nudging Flip with the point of his shoe to get him to look up. “How about a fuck for old’s time sake, eh?”

_For old time’s sake._ Flip huffs. As if Gabriel didn’t leave him to die in a ditch with one bullet left in his gun. Did Gabriel really think he was that stupid? Flip may have wanted him once but he knows better now. He won’t fall for it again, even when Gabriel deserves nothing less than to be put over one knee and spanked for all his misbehaviors. But: that’s Flip’s dick talking. What Gabriel really deserves is nothing less than a stint in prison for all the crimes he’s committed and the people he’s swindled, Flip notwithstanding. He can’t waltz back into Flip’s life acting like they have no shared history. Water under the bridge may be water under the bridge but Gabriel has gambled his every chance at forgiveness and lost his hand.

“Come on, Zimmerman,” And Gabriel lets his voice drip to a dangerously sweet octave that makes Flip’s spine sing. His eyelids feel hot all of a sudden, his jaw aching from gritting his teeth too hard. “I’ll let you do anything you want. Fuck me, hit me, spank me. Anything. Eat my tight little arse. You seem to really like that bit last time.”

“That’s why you’re here?” Flip warns.

Gabriel reads his expression and backs up coolly, hands spread out in peace. 

“I don’t want to fuck you,” Flip says.Not that badly, anyway, he thinks.

Gabriel laughs, neither friendly nor mean. If Gabriel wants to be mean, he’ll let a person know it. This isn’t even a fraction of it, he’s just playing coy. 

“Can’t anyone take a joke these days?” He rolls his eyes as if to highlight the absurdity of the situation.“See, if I wanted a bloody fuck I wouldn’t have come to you, Zimmerman. I’ll have better luck drawing blood from a stone than taking my chances with you. I forget you can be kind of a prick sometimes among many other charming qualities.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t exactly inspire feelings of charity.”

Gabriel starts walking away. “I need to piss.” He waves a hand in the air. “Where the hell’s the bathroom?”

“End of the hall to your left.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel says, and there’s the sound of the door at the end of the hall shutting with a firm thud.

*

Flip wants him, is the thing, and therein lies the problem. He’s always wanted Gabriel who could never tell the truth the one time it mattered, who shot his marks with deadly aim, who could suck cock like no one’s business, Gabriel of the sharp eyes and even sharper words. He was an omega, living and breathing in an alpha’s world, but he was respected, even revered, in the circles in which he moved. And these circles are getting bigger as the world of crooks and thieves gets smaller day by day and it’s Gabriel’s name that getspassed around like holy scripture.

Flip should probably call the chief, should do something other than let Gabriel stay for the night, never mind the tundra outside, but instead he just finishes his beer, gets up from the couch, and heats a TV dinner which he eats standing at the kitchen aisle before calling it a night. He doesn’t pay Gabriel any attention, leaving him to the arduous task of cleaning his gun out in the living room. There’s a spare towel in the bathroom cabinet but Gabriel will probably help himself to it without asking. That’s how he lives his life after all: grabbing hold of anything he can get his greedy hands on, as if the rest of the world owes him a debt.

Flip gets ready for bed, stripping to his underclothes and pulling on a fresh t-shirt. He remembers to lock the bedroom door and slip his gun under his pillow where it’s within easy reach. He isn’t worried about getting robbed; there’s nothing of value to steal in his living room except for old family heirlooms Gabriel will have no use for, knickknacks that once belonged to his grandmother. Besides, Gabriel isn’t some petty thief though he once rifled through Flip’s belongings and kept his badge for a few days, only to break into Flip’s car and return it with a half-hearted note of apology.

Flip tries to put him out of his mind but it’s easier said than done when the only thing separating them is a locked door and Flip’s own flimsy self-control. 

He lights up a cigarette, hunching on the bed and blowing smoke rings into the air. The smell is going to get everywhere, on his pillows and on the bed sheets, so he quickly relocates to the windowsill where Greta, his potted plot, sits wilting miserably. He pushes the window open, shuddering when the night air licks sharply at his cheeks. This is the hardest winter the city’s known in years, the wind and snow throwing everything into an eerie stillness. Flip isn’t so heartless as to throw Gabriel out in weather like this but even so, he’s fairly certain Gabriel will find ways to survive. There’s a lot of things he can live with that most people find generally unpleasant, like blood on the hands, for example, like killing for money. Flip has seen him stand over an already dead body and shoot it fifteen times. He’s not helpless, or stupid. He’s as dangerous as the winter that’s seeping into the very bones of New York City, turning everything into ice.

Flip tries his best to fight off sleep that night but loses the battle around two in the morning when he all but smokes the last of his cigarettes. He slumps on his side, facing the door, twitching intermittently at every creak and rustle. He doesn’t dream, and he’s woken an hour later when the bed dips behind him. The room is blanketed in the blue-black darkness of early dawn when he blinks his eyes open and suddenly there it is, like a bucket of cold water to the face, icy, sharp: he can smell Gabriel, the aroused sweat on him, the stale odor of his exhaustion, worryingly familiar. It rouses Flip into action and he pivots to pin Gabriel flat on his back, his hands fisted in his shirt. 

Gabriel calmly stares back, parting his lips, looking up at him with a gaze heavy with meaning.

He swallows, and Flip stares at the shiny silver cross that rests innocuously against his collarbones, a new addition that hadn’t been there before. There are so many things Flip wants to ask him: _why now? why at all, what the fuck happened, where the hell have you been._ He really thought he could trust Gabriel who often flitted in and out of the precinct loaded with information and tips on all his cases. They all checked out in the end, every single one of them, so it didn’t make sense that he’d rat Flip out while he was undercover during one of the biggest cases of his career. 

“How did you get into my room?”

Gabriel arches up underneath him, slow, lazy, wrapping his hands around Flip’s clenched fists. He has beautiful hands. Flip remembers saying so their first night together, watching Gabriel push two fingers inside himself to prepare himself to take Flip’s cock. Slim, long-fingered, deft with a gun and knowing too well how to take a man apart. Gabriel breathes languidly with the skewed shadows falling across his face, his throat, and Flip finds himself wanting to lick the sheen of sweat off his neck and press his teeth to the unmarked skin. Gabriel needs it, is raring for it, for a fuck, a fight, anything Flip can give him, and Flip can smell it on him and in the air that permeates the space between them. It sets his teeth on edge. He can feel his breathing start to get heavier.

“Your doors are strangely easy to pick,” Gabriel notes, tilting his head to the side slyly,“You might want to consider changing them.”

Flip shakes him once, twice, like he would a malfunctioning toy. “What do you really want, Gabriel.”

“Oh so we’re back to being on first name basis again, are we?”

“What do you want,” Flip says, again. “Don’t play these games with me.”

Gabriel’s lips thin to an unamused line. He deflates like a balloon underneath the hull of Flip’s body, all the fight gone out of him. He lets his arms still above his head, his fists uncurling, his fingers opening. Then he lets out a long breath. In the dark, his eyes are sharp and focused. Gunmetal Gabriel, Guillotine Gabriel. Gabriel like the archangel wreaking havoc till the end of days. Flip shouldn’t want him but oh how he burns and pines. To be human is to hunger, and just looking at him makes his mouth fill up with thirst.

“I hate to say it but it looks like I’m gonna need your help.”

“When do you not.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Gabriel says, “I’m about to go into heat. I won’t be held accountable for the things I may say or do in the next few hours.”

“I don’t see how this concerns me. I care f _uck all_ about you.”

“None of the alphas I’ve ever been with have been very forthcoming about wanting to _ah_ , assist me during this time of need, not especially since I fucked most of them over,” Gabriel barrels on.

“You’ll betray anyone for the right price.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“Isn’t it?” Flip says, and he tightens his fist into Gabriel’s shirt one more time before letting him go and feeling resigned. “So you want me to fuck you till your heat passes. You went out of hiding for that?”

“I happen to be in the neighborhood too. Don’t feel too self-important.”

“I should arrest you,” Flip says, but it’s a half-hearted thought at best and they both know it.

“You could,” Gabriel agrees. “But where would be the fun in that? Come now detective.” He drops his voice to a silky purr and rolls his hips. “Suppressants aren’t cheap and I can guarantee us both a good time. When’s the last time you got your dick wet?” 

Flip tries not to ponder over the question. Rising to the bait will only encourage Gabriel and he so rarely has the upper hand. “You have no ounce of shame, do you?” he says, frowning down at him, scouring Gabriel’s face for any of his usual tells.

“I’m a liar and a crook.” Gabriel shrugs. “Did you really expect anything less?”

*

Flip doesn’t say yes. Not immediately. He doesn’t want to give Gabriel the satisfaction. Waiting for Gabriel’s heat is a slow simmering burn. It doesn’t happen that night though there are the usual signs preceding a heat: a change in his scent, fever-bright eyes. The rest Flip attributes to Gabriel’s general _Gabriel-ness,_ like the wandering hands and the tendency to make blatant sexual overtures.

Flip goes to work, ignoring him once more where he’s buried under a pile of blankets on the sofa, his head and feet sticking out. His socks don’t match.

Flip’s shift is rote: nine hours of dull desk work, fielding phone calls and chasing dead end leads, and then he’s clocking out for the day after four coffees and half a box of glazed donuts. He drives home in the snow, listening to political radio, resolutely not thinking about what’s waiting for him at home. When he _does_ come home, his apartment is still surprisingly in tact: nothing has been stolen, and there’s potato soup boiling over on the stove with the tiny breakfast nook made up for two, matching cutlery and all. A man can get used to this, Flip catches himself thinking before it’s too late. He turns the gas off and goes in search for Gabriel, doesn’t need to wait very long before he hears water running in the bathroom further down the hall. Then Gabriel emerges with a towel haphazardly wrapped around his waist, whipping around fast to point a gun in Flip’s face. Flip doesn’t flinch, but he does hold his arms up in reflexive surrender. 

“ _Jesus,_ Flip.” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I thought you were someone else. Ever heard of knocking?”

“It’s my apartment,” Flip points out. “Why would I have to knock?”

“Because you have a guest. And it’s only common courtesy. You’re lucky I didn’t shoot your handsome face off and then where would we be, hm?”

Flip shrugs. “I thought you already left.”

“And let you get rid of me that easily? Ha!” Gabriel huffs, tucking his gun away and shuffling straight to Flip’s bedroom where he drops his towel on the floor without preamble or pretense. Flip has seen him naked before a number of different times, and in each of those situations except one had ended up fucking him until neither of them could move. On the bed, bent over on all fours, with Gabriel straddling him and riding him hard and fast, panting out his name. They work well in bed together but outside of it is a different story: chaos, sometimes bullets. The kind of pummeling that results in week-old bruises that never seem to fade away.

Gabriel lies on his back with his feet planted on the mattress and spreads his knees apart. He’s plugged up and already hard, his thighs glistening with slick that Flip can smell even from the door. Gabriel doesn’t have any scars on his body except for the thin raised line about four inches long running up the crease of his elbow where he cut the skin open on some barbed wire. There’s a tickle of red hair traveling from the soft roll of his stomach down to his groin and Flip’s breath goes funny just thinking about putting his teeth there and marking the vulnerable skin. 

He kneels on the bed, first one knee, then the other, and leans over so he’s resting his weight on his knuckles and hovering over Gabriel. His hair curtains his face, almost brushing against Gabriel’s. 

“You smell good. Do you know what you smell like?” Gabriel says.

“Do _you?”_ Flip asks, mouth going slack, his whole body aching to follow. “It’s like —” he catches his words and then puts them back in his mouth. “Never mind. You want me to fuck you? Is that why you’re here?”

“Someone’s finally cottoning on.”

“You need this?” Flip asks, and at the question he grazes the pads of his fingers down the cradle of Gabriel’s ribs, watching his nipples harden. They’re pink, precious, just like his cock which has started dripping precome and canting to the left. Gabriel stays very still, gritting his teeth, writhing just a little as if to beg _more, more, more._ His thighs spread even further apart, shameless. 

“How long have you been plugged up?” Flip asks, touching the flared base of the toy, pressing lightly with his thumb so that Gabriel arches into it.

“Hours — _ahh_ the whole time you were gone. I fucked myself with it. Came on your clothes. Put your shirts on the bed and rubbed my pretty little cock all over them.”

“Jesus,” Flip groans. He really has no shame.

Gabriel smirks as if Flip had said that out loud and Flip realizes that he might have. 

“I’m about to go into heat. You won’t like me when I’m in heat. I get mean and vicious. Fuck, I’ll shoot your fucking head off if you don’t put your dick in me _right now_.” 

Flip grabs Grabriel’s wrist before he has the opportunity to reach for his own cock. “We’ll do it my way if you want it that badly. Take out the toy but do its s _lowly_. Don’t use your hands.” 

Gabriel gives him an incredulous, disbelieving look. He looks like he’s on the verge of saying something but instead of continuing on that line of thought he shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. “Jesus,” he mutters. “Fucking pervert.”

“Do it,” Flip grates out. “No hands.”

Gabriel knows what Flip wants him to do but is all too happy to take his sweet time doing it: he spreads his legs farther apart, gripping himself under the knees for support, his nails leaving red welts. The base of the plug is a sweet blushy pink, the same color as his face and the flush that has now worked its way across his neck and chest and nipples. Gabriel’s head flops down as he starts pushing out the toy. Each feeble attempt sucks it back in in weak shuddery pulses and he whines in frustration when Flip does nothing but sit and watch impassively.

Flip can smell a myriad of scents rolling off him: frustration, arousal, exhaustion. His body is tense with sweat.

“I can’t do it.” Gabriel shakes his head, voice dangerously close to a wobble. “Fuck. We’re gonna be here all day.”

“You’re not trying hard enough.”

“It’s like trying to take the biggest hardest shit of my life. With you watching. ”

Flip steels himself from laughter. Gabriel glowers at him darkly, snarling at him through clenched teeth. A final protracted push manages to free the plug from the slippery clutch of his hole, and he sighs when the toy _does_ slip out, wet and shiny with his slick. 

“Shit.” Flip groans, more from the smell than anything else. Flip dives between Gabriel’s legs without any mercy, compelled by a sudden need to taste him in his mouth. He tongues him open, hot and wet and sloppy and gets slick all across his stubble, smeared across his face land the tip of his nose where it’s pressed up against the hang of Gabriel’s balls, fuzzy with the softest orange hair. He laps at Gabriel like he can’t get enough of him, and maybe the truth is that he can’t. 

Gabriel makes wheezing, desperate noises, trying to buck up against Flip’s face despite Flip’s best efforts to hold him down with both hands. 

“Come on, come on,” Gabriel whines, “Take your dick out. Put it in me, yeah. Fuck, yeah. Do it, you bastard. _Do it._ ” He tugs at Flip’s belt buckle, helping him free his dick from the confines of his boxers. 

Flip groans and lets Gabriel pump him into full hardness, those long fingers around his cock working him up in a near-painful rhythm. Gabriel dips his head, lifts his jaw, then almost abruptly closes his lips over the leaking head of Flip’s cock. Flip yelps when his dick is all but enveloped in wet heat, and then suddenly Gabriel’s swallowing him down to the root, no warning whatsoever, an avid cocksucker if Flip ever saw one. Say what you want about Gabriel but he’s terrific at sucking cock, his ability almost on par with how well he can take it. Flip grunts and slides his fingers into Gabriel’s hair, leaning back to let Gabriel suck him off with a desperation that borders on embarrassing. His hair is a tangled avalanche across his face as he bobs his head in an erratic rhythm that has Flip’s dick sliding down his throat on every downward stroke.

When Flip feels himself itching to come, he tugs Gabriel off him and starts positioning him on all fours, Gabriel goes with it, sighing in slack-jawed relief when Flip’s hands bracket his hips, skim up his ribs while resolutely ignoring his dripping dick. 

“Do it. Mate me. Mate me, mate me,” Gabriel hisses. He reaches for his own ass with both hands, spreading his cheeks apart with the pads of his fingers. A fat drop of slick slides down the inside of his thigh, trickles down the inside of his left knee and coats his calf. His smell is getting everywhere, filling the roof of Flip’s mouth like smoke. Flip swallows it down and groans, touching two fingers to Gabriel’s inner thigh before pushing them back into him. Gabriel clenches around him, bearing down on his knuckles beautifully, hardly any resistance from how wet he is. 

“Please,” Gabriel begs, shaking now, burying his face into his crossed arms. “Fuck, don’t tease me. Put it in me.”

Flip has no objections fucking Gabriel from behind because it means he gets to watch himself sink into his tight clenching hole, glistening with slick. There’s so much of it, coating the inside of Gabriel’s shivering thighs and covering Flip’s cock to the root on the second slide in. Flip fucks him deep and slow, lazy cants of the hips that has Gabriel panting and trembling harder, meeting him halfway.

“Feel that?” Flip grunts, grasping Gabriel tighter by the hips, yanking him down onto his cock till Gabriel’s knees slip and slide apart across the bed sheets. “Where I’m fucking you with my cock? You should; you love taking dick.”

“ _Fuck you._ ”

“That’s the idea.”

“I hate you,” Gabriel groans, but he’s half-sobbing in pleasure, laughing deliriously as Flip continues to drive deep into him. “I hate you so much, you bastard.”

“Is that right,” Flip says, and then fucks harder into him, a sharp thrust that has Gabriel’s cock pulse out a wad of precome. “You don’t want my knot? I can fill you up with so much come, you know. Knock you up with pups if we aren’t careful. Keep you always full for me. You’d like that, I bet. I mean, you show up at my doorstep practically begging to be fucked through your heat when you could’ve gone to anyone else. You love it, love taking my big, fat alpha dick. It’s the only thing that gets you hot anymore. I’m the only one who can give this to you.”

“Shit,” Gabriel laughs, rubbing his face against the bed, then his dick, making a wet sloppy mess of things. Flip stills his hips, his cock aching, throbbing, like his heart beat and his blood, and grazes sharp teeth across Gabriel’s naked shoulder blade. He wants to bite down, mark Gabriel and mate him, take him apart piece by piece like a starving animal, anything to tether him to his bed forever. They’ll be so good together, he’s convinced, because at the end of the day this is exactly what Flip needs: somebody to yank on his chains and bare their teeth at him, who will **tilt** his world around that he has painstakingly built from sod and stone.

Gabriel bumps his crotch with his ass and Flip grunts as the last ounce of his self-control topples like a deck of cards. He fucks in deep, rough and pounding, exactly how he knows Gabriel wants and needs it. Gabriel takes everything like a champ, greedy as always, when Flip reaches across his belly and tugs at his neglected cock. He doesn’t stifle his moans, or turn his face away in shame but instead rocks into Flip’s every movement, shuddering when Flip brushes an absentminded kiss across his neck.

Neither of them lasts long; Flip goes on fucking Gabriel until all he can hear is Gabriel’s litany of cries underscoring the wet thrust of their bodies, and then with one flick of the wrist Gabriel is coming and coming, the whole length of his body snapping tight like a bow before sagging forward onto his front. Flip follows soon after, gritting his teeth when Gabriel starts clenching reflexively around his fattening knot. He feels the rush of wetness around the length of his dick as Gabriel attempts to squirm away at best he can despite the lower half of their bodies being locked.

Flip kneels behind him, arranges the both of them on their sidesand draws Gabriel’s knees up to a more comfortable angle.

Gabriel doesn’t move for a while after and neither does Flip. He’s too exhausted to do anything but breathe and rub his nose against the soft skin of Gabriel’s neck, running his lips across the expanse of skin, here, there. He smells really good, like something that should belong to Flip, and the thought is incredibly terrifying in so many ways. 

Gabriel is shaking now that it’s over, his spent cock flushed but still half-hard against his belly. They’ll be fucking again later after Gabriel has recovered; Flip knows that isn’t even the worst of it. He’s helped Gabriel through his heats before and he knows what they are like. He used to drive himself crazy thinking about Gabriel going around asking his alpha pals to breed him, those thugs and crooks Flip has already put in jail. It used to get his blood boiling because with Gabriel there’s never been any certainty: his only loyalty was to himself. He often said that he was a gambling man, but nothing was a gamble when you knew how the chips would fall. 

“I fucking hate you,” Gabriel mutters sleepily, sounding defeated, tired, sated. Quiet for once in the brief calm of his heat. 

“I know,” Flip says. He reaches over to push a strand of hair out of Gabriel’s face and Gabriel blinks, looks at him like a lost child.

*

They fuck a few times more. The bedroom is a war zone with scattered clothing and upturned furniture. Flip breeds Gabriel a total of five times. On the fifth and final time they’re both half-asleep fucking, Flip spooned behind Gabriel and thrusting into him in lazy uncoordinated shunts, the two of them covered all over in bites, bruises, come. 

Flip falls asleep still inside Gabriel, and when he wakes at an undetermined hour later they’re still uncomfortably pressed together, their bodies humid with sweat. Gabriel hasn’t left yet, is still sleeping soundly and snoring which Flip counts as a small victory. He can’t articulate the wave of relief barreling straight through him so he slings an arm around Gabriel’s waist and goes back to sleep instead.

In the morning, Gabriel will leave again, but not before raiding Flip’s fridge and stealing his watch from the nightstand as a kind of parting gift while Flip is asleep. 

Months later, he’ll turn up at Flip’s door, battered and bruised and looking worse for wear. “I have enemies,” he’ll say. “I need a place to stay.” He’ll reach across and touch Flip’s hands with such tenderness and there will be a day when Flip will be much colder and harder to reach but today will not be that day. Gabriel will unzip his jacket and then show Flip his pale belly, swollen with child and at odds with the rest of his body. He won’t say whose it is but Flip won’t be able to turn him away, either way. He’ll know it’s his even without Gabriel telling him, the same way he knows that Gabriel, rough, weathered and wildly unpredictable, always needing to have the last word, also belongs to him.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
